If I Stay, It Ain't Gonna Be Easy
by define-serenity
Summary: [Barry/Eddie] Eddie's lips move against his in a gentle rhythm, an ebb and flow to their mouths that spins his thoughts haywire, a welcome mess to the chaos he's used to. This one twisters along his spinal chord, settling something close to an itch at the small of his back, travelling lower still once Eddie forces him on his back, half draped over his body. (OUR ROAD IS LONG VERSE)


Barry/Eddie, 1388 words, r-rated

set in the same 'verse as my other one. can be read as a standalone. title taken from _Love On The Rocks_ by Sara Bareilles.

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**_If I Stay, It Ain't Gonna Be Easy_**

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Eddie's lips move against his in a steady gentle rhythm, a ebb and flow to their mouths that slowly spins his thoughts haywire, a welcome change to the chaos he's used to. This one twisters along his spinal chord, settling something close to an itch at the small of his back, travelling lower still once Eddie forces him on his back, half draped over his body. He traces careful fingertips over Eddie's biceps, the pronounced muscle mass one of many of his favorite features.

It's almost two in the afternoon and they should head back to work; crime doesn't tend to solve itself. He needs to be there when the mass spectrometer is done analyzing the dust found at the latest crime scene, and Eddie should start digging through witness statements again. These secrets moments are all they have though, even if they were all based on lies; Joe thinks Eddie's blowing off some steam at the gym, while he used a late lunch with Iris as his own excuse. Now his mouth tastes of Eddie's skin and sweat and semen, his body spent and relaxed after Eddie worked his frustration into sucking hickeys into his hips, getting him off with his mouth and his hands, pushing deep inside of him until he moaned out his name.

They steal these moments where and whenever they can, a kiss or two when they find themselves alone at the lab, a cheeky glance at crime scenes, a quick handjob in the janitor's closet like they're two teenagers sneaking around in high school. It's excited and fun and so incredibly welcome; Eddie doesn't make demands, only ever expects him and his body, not anything or anyone better. He'd be lying if he said Eddie was the only one he could be himself with, but Dr Wells and Joe and Iris never saw him at his worst, never saw the panic attacks once he came back to work. Eddie had the time and patience to work him through that, and he's the only one he'd allowed to see that part of him.

Eddie tugs at his hair twice. "Bar, we have to get going," he mutters in between two kisses, making no move to actually stop; sometimes he's afraid it's an addiction, that Eddie's not only a support system and a friend, but someone he uses to let the madness out, to forget about S.T.A.R labs and his accident, about his crush (former or not, he's not sure) on Iris, about his dad still stuck in prison. Sometimes he's afraid he puts that all on Eddie without giving him anything in return.

"Five more minutes," he begs, quickly forcing Eddie on his back so he can't change his mind quite so easily, and straddles his hips between his thighs. When that coaxes a growl out of the man beneath him he knows he's got him right where he wants him. Maybe it is an addiction, he wouldn't be better if it weren't for Eddie, he'd still lie awake at night afraid that blinking might lose him another nine months, he'd bite his nails until he drew blood, he'd have sunk into a black hole of self harm, hoping his mind would fix itself the way his body learned to.

He steals a greedy kiss from Eddie's lips, Eddie's hands coming around to grab his ass, arousal blanketing his every thought again as he grinds down–

"Joe doesn't appreciate tardiness."

He blinks, once, twice, but no, his desire flits from his body as fast as his hypermetabolism burns through alcohol.

Eddie grimaces. "Buzzkill?"

"Yeah," he sighs, heaving himself off Eddie towards his side of the bed, or what would be considered his side if they'd defined their tryst any more clearly. Eddie sits up and searches the floor for his boxers, while he's content to settle back against the headboard, watching his– _his boyfriend_, he supposes, though he's none too sure how Eddie would feel about that term. Eddie's confessed to liking him, and it could be more, but they haven't really talked. There isn't much to talk about; Iris would be happy for them, hell, maybe even Director Singh, but Joe would think it far too complicated to all be happening within the same precinct. Joe doesn't like complicated, especially when that complicated applied to his kids.

And then of course there's the fact that he's not just lying to Joe, or Iris. He's lying to Eddie too.

His phone pings on the bedside table.

"What's that?" Eddie asks, finally stepped into his boxers.

For a second or two he's distracted by a half-naked Eddie Thawne, and licks his lips as his eyes trace down the short happy trail of hair, skip up his torso before he catches Eddie's eyes, twinkling in amusement. "It's–" He tears his eyes away and grabs his phone. "Iris' blog. There's another picture of The Flash."

There's not really a picture, there's a red blur smeared in the center of a dark photograph, not enough to make out much of anything. But Iris sure does try. He wishes she wouldn't; it's put her in the path of the likes of Tony Woodward, and there's bound to be more creeps out there hoping to reveal his identity. Try telling her that though, they've all tried, he and Eddie and Joe, to no avail. Iris insists on proving that the impossible is real, not just to him, but to the entire world now.

He looks up in time to see Eddie roll his eyes.

"You really don't believe he's out there," he says, trying not to take it too personally. Eddie doesn't know he helped build The Flash, that every time he stumbled into Eddie's private space it wasn't just to talk about his panic attacks or his near-death experience; underneath every conversation lay an insecurity about this role he cast himself into, the role of the hero, of The Flash, the red streak so vaguely caught on camera just this morning at the crime scene they were now investigating together. He loves being The Flash, couldn't imagine his life without his powers anymore, but he's not sure whether he shares Iris' beliefs that the entire world should siphon their hopes to him.

"No, I don't."

His eyes skip to his phone again, time ticking away. A few months ago that would've scared him, time running out all around him, Iris moving on, his dad withering away, nine months disappeared. Eddie taught him to accept that he can't control everything, try as he (still) might, and in their moments together, long before they started sleeping together, time ceased to matter.

Eddie crawls onto the bed towards him. "I believe in what I can see and what I can touch," he says, eyes caught in his and he couldn't look away if he tried. Eddie has this hold on him, it's what makes him cave over and over despite the difficult position it puts them in; he's kind and warm with that bit of mystery surrounding his life before Central City, but he's never really pried.

Warm fingers trace up his arm. "And what I can feel."

He ignores the irony of it all, how Eddie's seen and touched and felt The Flash in more compromising positions than he can recount; that's yet another secret he decided to wrap up with a nice bow, even though he does a poor job at covering all his bases. He thinks the only reason Eddie hasn't yet seen through his excuses is because he doesn't want to. But it's only a matter of time.

He falls into a kiss, Eddie's tongue teasing at his lips, a playful bite at his bottom lip that leaves him hissing. They don't have time for this, he promised Dr Wells he'd drop by for some more tests, _some more speed_, and he still needs to get his results to Joe first. "I thought you were trying to get me out of bed," he says softly, planting short kisses against Eddie's lips.

Eddie laughs. "Maybe just one more round. Real quick."

"Joe _is_ used to me being late."

Eddie pulls back, eyes narrowing on his face, his buzz whisked away with a few choice words. "Well played, Allen."

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**_fin_**

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End file.
